


Across Three Rings

by daredoll



Series: across three rings [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daredoll/pseuds/daredoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Mitchell, babysitter extraordinaire and everyone’s favorite cousin, is much too old for the circus, but she’s far too easily swayed when it comes to puppy dog eyes and pouting lips. A certain teenage archery ace in the center ring, though, might just make her fall in love with the big top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

At 17, Laura deems herself too old to be going to the circus of all places, but her younger cousins insist and those big blue eyes of theirs are something she won’t learn how to resist for at least ten years to come. They get there early because if anything Laura is prompt, and if she’s going to the circus she’s getting her favorite munchkins good seats.

They’re five rows from the front and surrounded by overpriced caramel corn and cotton candy that undoubtedly cost more than she’ll be receiving as her babysitting compensation, and she can already tell from their excited bouncing in their seats that this is going to be a long night. The show is good, she admits, and probably if she was younger she would enjoy it. As it is she’s vaguely amused and adding up all the homework she has to do this weekend until the ringleader announces the arrival of the “Amazing Hawkeye”.

He bursts in standing on the back of a white horse with purple trimming, its hooves racing around the ring and the young man atop it releasing arrow after arrow perfectly into the center of seven bullseyes. He’s shirtless, which the teenager can’t help but appreciate as he rides closer and she can see what must be something prettier than sweat gleaming on perfectly formed, gracefully rippling muscles, and looks about the same age as her. His blonde hair shining in the big top lights is almost as breathtaking as his features, but even these two glorious sights are nothing compared to the shots he makes. She’s oohing and ahhing right along with crowd for the first time that night and she can’t rip her eyes off him as he performs acrobatic feat after acrobatic feat, all followed by an act of marksmanship that somehow puts what came before it to shame.

As his act finishes she’s one of the many who gives him a standing ovation, Maggie and Denise snickering to her right and left at their silly babysitter, and her eyes strain to follow him as far out of the spotlight as possible until he finally disappears into the tent’s shadows. For the rest of the night homework is forgotten and all she can think of is that archer and the gleam in his eye, the sureness of his stance. He looks like he was born to hold a bow and Lara envies him that assurance just as she fawns over his, well, everything.

The drive home is spent in a daze that is especially reserved for girls with crushes too big for their own hearts. The two hellions she loves so much are quick to pick up on it, and not for the first time she wonders how these children who can’t even spell their own first names can see straight through her. When she brings them back home to wait for their parents, the first thing they’re squealing is “Laura has a crush! Laura has a crush!” and of course her older brothers are quick to jump on it. By the end of the night the entire family has been told all about the “Amazing Hawkeye” and Laura’s blushed about fifteen shades of burgundy.

Still, Laura is the youngest, and as the baby, her family is dead set on her getting whatever she wants, especially since their little perfectionist so rarely wants for anything they can get her. Her parents take her back to the next performance with a laugh, and this time Hawkeye waves at the crowd with the prettiest smirk she’s ever seen. Her brothers accompany her to the following one, and she spends the night blushing between them. Her friends are her companions to the second to last show, and the young man winks at the crowd while Laura tries to convince herself that it isn’t a big deal that he seems to have winked in her direction.

Finally her sister insists that they sit in the front row for the circus’s last night in town and Laura beams from ear to ear while Lila rolls her eyes fondly. This time his routine is slightly different and about halfway through he does something that has her stomach plummeting to the floor. He asks for a volunteer of all things, but she can’t force her hand up. Luckily, Lila wants the best big sister award more than anything and she’s tugging her arm upward as Laura almost tries to fight it. Lila’s screaming “Pick her! Pick her!” and if Laura could blush something deeper than purple she’s so sure she must be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm so in love with the idea of circus!Clint, Laura is, too! The first chapter's a little on the short side, but it'll about double from here on out to the third chapter at least. Updates should come weekly unless I get too excited and post early. The p.o.v. will change to Clint's for the second and fifth chapters, just as a warning. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and want to keep reading!


	2. two

Clint Barton’s stage name is Hawkeye for a reason, and he’s noticed a certain cute brunette in the audience every night since they’ve been in Illinois. The only problem is that, that cute brunette? She’s not actually cute. Each show she sits closer and he swears she gets prettier each time he glances into the crowd. Finally, he’s decided that she must comes here for him. Why else would she be sitting so close to where he performs? His ego swells at the thought. Sure he’s had fans before, but this? This is especially nice. So, for once he calls for a volunteer, mind wracking for a routine to do even as his voice rings out. She’s blushing like mad, and his smirk deepens. Who knew that all it would take was one girl to make his job this much better? Still, he glances over the crowd as if he doesn’t already know who he’s choosing.

Finally his eyes make contact with hers and the smirk turns into a smile without even meaning to. He points her out and he has to hold in a chuckle at the way her eyes widen like those deer who used to get stuck in the headlights of Barney’s truck. The bowman approaches her slowly, getting maybe a little too much enjoyment out of her gaze darting between him and the girl who looks too much like her to be anything but her sister as she whispers something nervously. The sisterl just laughs and shoots him a wink when he finally reaches them, and the smile widens even more. This is going to be good.

“You ready?” he asks, offering her his hand to help her up. He knows she isn’t, but honestly that might be the best part. She takes his hand slowly, almost cautiously, and he can’t help but notice how soft her skin is. It’s like satin, and he suddenly feels almost afraid that his calluses will somehow mar it. This is the hand of someone who doesn’t have to work their ass off to the bone just to stay alive, and that’s intimidating to the farm boy from Iowa. The way her face blossoms into a shy grin, though, is enough to reinforce his and as soon as she nods her head he pulls her closer. “Trust me?” It’s cheesy, he knows, but it’s also important. He can shoot an arrow any way and anywhere he wants to, but if she’s going to be flinching the entire time, he can’t guarantee anything.

Her “definitely” is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. His hand releases hers to mirror his other at her waist, and he lifts her over the guardrail with a flourished spin before setting her down on the sawdust floor of the ring. Clint tells himself that it’s for the show, and of course it partially is. More so, though, he wants to see that white dress of hers flutter around her because girls in white dresses aren’t exactly a common occurrence in a world of sequins and feathers, and “definitely” is certainly more than he expected. He probably won’t forget either for the rest of his time in the circus.

She’s the best volunteer he’s ever had, and it only halfway helps that he’s never asked for another volunteer before. The way he can visibly see the uncertainty in her stance dissolve away is like something he’s never seen. He’s shooting arrows at her, for God's sake, but her smile’s no longer shy. Instead it’s sure, and he likes it. _A lot._ After he’s shot her silhouette full of arrows and the audience is clapping thunderously, he walks toward her again, motioning her to the side so that they can see the full effect his marksmanship has left. Her hand in his is warm and incredibly nice when she forces him into her bow.

“That was amazing,” the girl breathes into his ear as he escorts her back to her seat and he practically beams.

“Hey, you know, uh, if you aren’t doing anything later, you should stick around after. I have to give you a ‘best volunteer’ award,” his hand itches to rub at the back of his neck, but he doesn’t somehow.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replies, winking at him as he lifts her again over the rail, this time without the spin, sadly. He doesn’t know how the girl who wouldn’t even raise her hand by herself not thirty minutes ago is suddenly flirting, but he likes both girls equally so he’s far from complaining. Luckily he has the rest of his routine so perfectly memorized or else his eyes constantly straying to the brunette in the front row might have been cause for a disaster, or, even worse, a missed shot.

He practically runs back to the bleachers once the show’s finished, but the spot his volunteer had occupied is empty now. His stomach plummets, and he should have known that she wouldn’t stay. Circus boys are fun for a second, but they’re just a fancy for most. The thrill wears off as soon as they realize that “The Amazing Hawkeye” is just anpother hick from a farm town.

“My name’s Laura, by the way,” a voice comes from behind him, and he pastes a smirk on his face as he turns to face it.

“Clint,” he supplies, hand reaching to pluck a violet-fletched arrow from his quiver. It’s stupid how happy he is that she’s still here, and so he covers it with arrogance as he twirls the arrow between his fingers. “You know, white isn’t exactly the best color to wear to the circus, girlie.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find a pair of sequined covered pants on such short notice, and most of today’s society frowns on girls going shirtless,” she argues with a pointed look at his bare chest.

“Hey now, eyes up here. I know you haven’t been able to stop staring all night long. Or should I say all _nights_ long?” She blushes prettily at that, and he’s starting to realize that she does just about everything prettily. Hell, she could punch him in the face and he’d probably thank her. The arrow spins one last time in his hands before he offers it to her nimbly. “Objectification aside, you were the best volunteer I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you,” Laura replies, and accepts it with those same soft-skinned fingers. Her hand lingers on his a little longer than necessary, but she doesn’t meet his eyes for a moment as she, too, fiddles with the arrow. Finally she looks back up at him with that same shy smile from before and lifts up on the tips of her toes to press a soft kiss on his cheek. He hopes that the grin on his own face isn’t too goofy, but from the way the blonde stares up at with a questioning gaze, it obviously isn’t enough.

“You missed,” he says, and her look changes from questioning into a combination of confused and hopeful. “You missed,” he repeats again, treating it like an answer as he leans in to capture her lips in his. She’s sweet, a dusting of cotton candy still on her lips, but he’s almost sure that she’d be sweet even without the added sugar. She kisses him back eagerly, her hands ghosting up to rest on his chest as his hands go to cradle her face, and he’ll be damned if her cheeks aren’t softer than her hands. This is far from his first kiss, but it’s soft and sweet and somehow nicer than the rest of them put together. In fact, he feels like he could kiss her forever, but the honk of a horn disrupts them just as he’s about to go up for air.

“That was nice,” she breathes, looking up at him almost wistfully. He wants to kiss her again and again.

“Yeah,” is all he says instead, and the a bubble of laughter vibrates between them.

“I’ve gotta go,” she confesses, her hands trailing down his pecs in a way that certainly isn’t necessary, let alone fair.

“Yeah.” He wishes she didn’t have to, but it’s not like he can do anything about it. Laura presses up to peck lightly at his lips one last time before she’s crouching down to pick up the arrow from its abandoned place on the circus floor and scampering towards the exit. Clint watches, surprisingly sad to watch this girl he’s only spoken to once leave, but he’s been told before that he gets _too_ attached _too_ easily. She pauses at the tent’s flap for a moment to look back at him.

“Call me!” she yells, and then she’s gone. He squints at where she once was. How can he call her if he doesn’t have her number? Then he feels it, a slip of paper tucked in the strap of his quiver. His smile is somewhere between amused and proud as he commits those ten numbers to memory, right along with the heart drawn next to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you who left kudos to and an especially big gracias to the two of you that commented! This was my first time writing Clint, so I hope it's up to snuff. If you have any constructive criticism, please feel free to comment, and I'd also love to hear any thoughts on the story, good or bad! Yet again, I hope you enjoy this chapter and want to keep reading!


	3. three

He never calls.

A year later she’s sitting in the second to last row of seats, fifteen dollars poorer and much less starry-eyed. Laura watches the flurry of movement in the center ring with detached interest, and the sparkle that last year’s show had seemed to have is gone. The strong man who’s performing now had always failed to steal her attention, but she knows what comes next. Maybe that’s why her hands are so much more captivating than the performer. Her hands are different, she thinks, but they aren’t the only things that have changed in this year’s time.

There’s a callous on the middle finger of her right hand from all the writing she’s been doing and none of the lotion she’s been applying, but her ex liked his girls smart rather than soft. Living up to, or more accurately, always somehow just below, his expectations had been exhausting and left little time for the upkeep of the things she herself took pride in. There’s a thin scar on the palm of her left hand from where it bit a sliver of broken windshield in the school parking lot, another gift from the boy she’d dreamed herself in love with, but at least she’s glad to know that it was almost worth it. It was hard for her ex-boyfriend to be valedictorian after he’d been expelled from school for violence against another student, and well, wouldn’t you know it but Laura Mitchell was certainly smart enough to take his place at the commencement, honor cords proudly hung around her shoulders even with stitches in her skin.

Her hair is shorter now, too, but it’s the slight hitch in her step that she wonders if anyone else notices. How many hours has she spent looking into the mirror above her sink wondering if there’s some sort of tell in her eyes that she’s constantly biting back her own opinion for fear of ridicule for it? She used to be so sure that she was smart, that her thoughts were certainly worth being voiced, but now doubt trails her every move like a mosquito at dusk on a hot summer night. How did he take so much out of her in just eight short months? How could she have let him do it?

Finally, the strong man saunters off the stage, muscles rippling but still outshone by those of the archer who follows him. His act is as breathtaking as ever, but her eyes find it hard to look anywhere but at his face. She wants to read him, to see if he’s changed as visibly as she is so certain she has, but he looks the same from her position in the stands. Would he remember her or is she simply another fan, another girl in love with a performer, someone stupid enough to go over one moment more often than anyone should? He meets her eyes one time during the show and her breath catches in the back of her throat as his face morphs from steady concentration to surprise to a wider smile than before. She blushes when he looks away to finish his act, and she chastises herself even as she knows that she’ll linger after hoping that he’ll meet her again.

“Lisa,” he says as he approaches the stands after the show is over and done, that twinkle in his eye implying that he does, in fact, know it isn’t her name, but it’s been too long a year for her to find it charming.

“Fuck you,” she drawls out slowly and simply as she turns, her new white dress tight around her thighs. The curse word is unfamiliar against the lips of the girl who doesn’t swear, but it’s so fitting she couldn’t refuse it. Laura gets two steps away before his voice calls out again and it’s the ten digits of her phone number. She weighs her response on her tongue, but she can’t stay away from the boy that she’s dreamed of for twelve months. “What’s the point of memorizing a number you’ll never call?”

“There aren’t exactly a lot of phones on the road, girlie. Didn’t mean I didn’t want to.” It’s halfway between an apology and something deeper, something so close to longing, and it’s almost enough to reel her all the way in. Instead she steps forward to lean against the rail, appreciating the height the riser gives her over him.

“What’s my name, circus boy?” the brunette asks, voice low and daring. It’s more than a question. It’s a test, and she can tell Clint knows it by the shift of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Laura.” His reply is breathy and serious, and she thinks that she’s amazed at how much better it sounds coming past his lips than Mark’s. She slips under the railing smoothly and his hands are on her hips just as fast to help her the rest of the way down. As soon as her feet are on solid ground she’s reaching up to pull his face down to hers by the strap of his quiver, and their lips are crashing together like there hasn’t been many months and even more miles between them, or maybe because there has.

The kiss is hungry and he tastes just as good as she remembers, like salt and fire and something _real_. His chest is firm and slick with something thicker than sweat that she guesses is what makes it shine in the circus lights, but her hands are traveling up to the nape of his neck too fast for her to appreciate it. Her fingers thread themselves through the hair at the back of his head as his travel up from her hips to cradle her face with enough pressure to make themselves known but not enough to fully satisfy her. _This is what kissing someone is supposed to feel like._ His lips on hers are soft but persistent, as if he’s afraid that too much pressure could break her but he can’t keep himself away, and he moans into her mouth when her fingers fist themselves tighter into his hair.

“Didn’t I warn you about wearing white to the circus?” he asks, pulling away to take a breath, and that smirk she likes so much is back on his face when he rests his forehead against hers. “It’s just gonna get dirty here.” His comment is like a dare that he’s sure she won’t take, but he really shouldn’t be.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” she replies, reveling in the way his eyes widen before she’s covering his half-gaping mouth with hers. His hands are back at her hips in an instant, and he’s lifting her up to sit on the risers behind them, the previous hesitance in his movements almost forgotten as the kiss deepens. She’s pulling him closer until their chests are flush against each other and she’s never wanted someone as much as she wants him right now. Calloused fingers graze over her arms and to her waist, holding her steady and close. His lips leave hers and she’s gasping to catch her breath when they trail down to her jawline, lingering kisses reaching her neck in a way that’s so unbelievably nice and, _oh God_ , hot that a quiet whimper escapes her lips.

He kisses her almost reverently, as if just the chance to feel her skin is a gift, and it’s so different from what she’s used to. Mark had kissed her when he wanted to, when he felt like it, when he needed to quiet her. How many times had his lips bruised hers in the middle of an argument, as if his kiss was enough to stifle her, to make her forget the reason she had been angry seconds earlier? He had kissed her to silence her, to claim her, and she had kissed him because as his girlfriend she was supposed to. The kiss she had shared with a blonde archer had to have been simply a fantasy, a dream that her mind had imagined to keep the total disappointment that was her current relationship from disillusioning her from love forever. Clint’s lips on hers now are almost too real, too good. How can she ever go back to reality after knowing “The Amazing Hawkeye”?

Her breaths are short and uneven with him at her neck, and her hands are tight on his wrists, anchoring herself to him. She could kiss him forever, and if that isn’t possible she’ll kiss him enough now to make it last that long. “How,” she begins, but the rest of the sentence is cut off by her own gasp of pleasure as he sucks at the vulnerable base of her neck. She feels Clint smile against her throat at the noise she makes for him, and it only does more to spur her into asking her question. “How long are you here?”

“Three weeks,” he answers her slowly, “always three weeks.” He raises his head to catch her lips, but this time he’s hesitant again. Laura knows this move all too well, though, and she’s glad that his lips are soft on hers or she wouldn’t stand for it.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Laura breaks away from the kiss to place a feather-light one at his temple and the way he shivers at her touch is intoxicating.

“Practicing.”

“And then what?” A peck to his cheek.

“Practicing some more.”

“And then you have time to spend with me?” This one lands at the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t have a car, Laura.” The way he leans into her touch should mean that he wants nothing more than for it to continue, so why does he keeps avoiding her question? He likes her, she can tell.

“So? I do, Clint.” She finally pulls away from him fully, hands going to frame his face so he’s forced to look her in the eye.

“You don’t know me, Laura. I’m not ‘The Amazing Hawkeye’ outside the rings, okay?” he blurts out, gaze averted in shame as he gestures to his costume. “I’m just Clint Barton, a farm hick from Iowa who ran away to join the circus.”

“And I’m Laura Mitchell, the youngest daughter of a cop in a farm town in Illinois.” She caresses his cheek with her thumb, and he looks back at her apprehensively. “I don’t need you to be ‘The Amazing Hawkeye’. I want the boy who treats me like someone special. I want you, farm hick or circus brat or anything in between.” He looks so surprised by her words that she comes close to kissing him again, but she wants his response even more. Finally, he covers any other emotion with a smirk and nods in her hold.

“Then I’m all yours, ma’am. Since you want me so much and all.” At that she laughs, hands shifting to wrap around the back of his neck as she draws him in closer, and he grins into the kiss she gifts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again to those of you who left kudos to and those that bookmarked, too! If you have any constructive criticism, as always please feel free to comment, and I'd also love to hear any thoughts on the story, good or bad! Yet again, I hope you enjoy this chapter and want to keep reading!


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